A Different Perspective
by Rylee Wyatt
Summary: Collection of my connected one shots and two shots that view America from a different perspective: his citizens. From modern times to the Revolutionary War, America's citizens have known him since the beginning. Never forget American History. Learn from your mistakes, for they are many. The will to be strong only makes you weak. The history of a hero. The legacy of a nation.
1. Never Forget

**A/N: In honor of all those who serve in **_**any **_**country, sacrificing their lives for what they believe in and care for.**

** And special honor to the Wounded Warriors project here at Fort Sam Houston in Texas, and all those who are in it. They have suffered a lot for our country, and I thank them from the bottom of my heart. **

**Never Forget**

Lara Chapman was like every other little kid at Morris Hill Elementary School. She liked to color, made fun of the teachers, and played with the other children. Her life was simple and enjoyable; the Chapmans had an adequate amount of money coming into their household. Two children, including Lara, and both parents working full-time made for a normal childhood for Lara.

Though she was like every other kid at Morris Hill, she was so much different than 99% of America's kids; she was the daughter of a military officer. Her father had been in the army for several years, and worked hard to ensure his family was safe and happy. A brave and intelligent man, he taught his children valuable lessons about life and safety, and inspired both of them for the rest of their lives.

And so, Lara Chapman grew up, as happy as a military kid could. Of course, it's easy when you're younger. Yes, you have friends, but leaving them seems only temporary. However, in the teenage years she started to dread moving. But, she never had any hard feelings towards the military or her father. It was always a new experience waiting for her, new places to discover and visit.

One day, when she was sixteen, her father sat down to talk with her. He explained about the military, and answered any questions. It is your choice, he told her, but you would be doing a great thing, serving your country. Little did he know, she had already decided years earlier. She didn't know it when she was younger, but she wanted to be in the military, just like her father. She wanted to defend her country.

Soon, she applied for the military, and as soon as she graduated, Lara was off to basic training. Testing herself like she never had before, she made new friends and connections. Two years later, she met the love of her life, and married him a few years later. She was happy, and felt proud of herself. Her parents and older brother were proud too, always calling her when she was away and visiting whenever they could.

It happened on her second tour in Iraq. A bomb exploded and almost killed her and two of her friends. They were only saved by Lara pushing the others out of the way. In the process, she lost both of her legs. She was cared for and shipped back to the United States. The whole time she was numb and had no idea what was happening; she jumped at every loud noise, and was annoyed by the wheelchair she was forced to use.

Recovery was long and arduous. Lara was sent to Joint Base San Antonio, Fort Sam Houston in Texas, where they had one of the best programs for recovering Wounded Warriors. She worked and worked to get better. Her husband and young daughter were there again. She battled depression and PTSD. Eventually, things started to look up.

She would never forget her first day with her new prosthetic legs. She was so excited to try them on and get moving. Getting them on was complicated, but they managed, and her therapist wheeled her up to the "gym," which had a lot of exercise equipment in it, but also a lot of machines and stuff for physical therapy. Before they got in the room, she could hear laughter.

When they finally went through the door, the therapist wheeled her over to a corner where they would practice her walking on a double bar thing so she could support herself. On the way over there, she looked for the source of the laughter, and caught site of a young man standing next to a couple of Wounded Warriors, who were smiling and laughing at something the younger man had said. His back was to her, but he was wearing jeans and what looked like a button-up shirt, and his hair was a darkish blonde. A little bit of hair seemed to stick up above the rest. Lara had never seen him before, and he didn't look like a therapist or anything. She figured he was being treated for something a little harder to see.

Absorbed in her walking and the sheer joy of doing so for the first time in a long time, she forgot about the young man for a half-hour or so, until she heard her therapist talk to someone.

"Oh, hello sir." Lara looked up from her exercises and saw the man right in front of her, his smile huge.

"Hello Lara! I'm Alfred Jones. It's an honor to meet you." He stuck his hand out respectfully, never loosing the smile on his face.

She reached out and took his hand. He shook her hand with surprising force. She must have winced because he quickly let go. "Oh, I'm sorry! Sometimes I forget my own strength…" After assuring she was okay, he grinned and pushed up his glasses. "I come in every few months or so," He explained to her, as if sensing her curiosity. "It's always an honor to meet the soldiers who serve m - our country." His smile faded. "And you have made a large sacrifice. For that, I am truly thankful, and truly sorry." With that, Alfred Jones nodded to the therapist, and walked out of the room, leaving behind a confused and curious woman.

Lara's gut told her Alfred Jones was nobody normal. Not just anybody could visit the recovering Wounded Warriors in the recovery and training room. He wasn't a relative of anybody there. And the way he stumbled when he said "our country."

And so, she didn't find out who he was, but she never forgot. He cared about every single person at that hospital. He seemed truly sorry that they were injured. Over time, she grew less curious, and took inspiration from it.

Years later, when her father became ill, she went in to talk to him. She would talk for hours about random things she had done and gone. One day, she started talking about the day she met Alfred Jones. When she was finished with her story, her father patted her hand.

"Do you know who that was, Lara?"

She looked at him curiously. "He said his name was Alfred Jones…"

"No, no. That's not what I meant. Do you know who he really is?"

Shaking her head slowly, she wondered who Alfred Jones was. Apparently he wasn't just an average person off of the street. "Who is he, papa?"

"It's hard to explain." Her father coughed briefly. "But, he's not like us, Laurie. I met him years and years ago, when we were stationed at Fort Knox when you were three."

"B-but…" She thought hard. Alfred Jones hadn't looked any older than twenty. "That was almost thirty years ago! He was only about nineteen or twenty!"

Her father smiled and nodded. "I told you, he's not like us."

"Then…what is he?"

"When you meet him again, I want you to ask."

Her father's funeral was a blur of family members, crying, and dark colors. She hardly remembered anything from the time the hospital called with the terrible news until the funeral a few days later. They presented her mother with an American flag, and she cried gripping onto it. They said their speeches.

After the ceremony was finished Lara stood alone at her father's grave, looking at the freshly piled dirt and shiny stone that rested at the head of it. Wildflowers grew around, bending slightly with the fresh breeze that made Lara's hair tickle her cheeks. Eventually she lost track of time, just standing there, then sitting, and thinking.

"He was a brave man. A real hero."

Startled, Lara turned around quickly. It took her a minute to realize who was standing in front of her in a dark suit and a somber look on his face. It was Alfred Jones.

"I-why are you here?" She stammered, then gasped when she realized what she said. "I'm sorry! That was so rude! I just thought I'd never see you again."

He gave her a small smile. "It's alright. I only met your father briefly a few years ago." He set a blue flower down on the grave.

"Like, thirty?" She said carefully, watching his reaction. He just nodded.

"Thirty-four, to be exact. Fort Knox," He stared off into the distance, as if recalling details. "He was receiving a promotion and a few awards. The president came." He turned back to her. "You have questions, so ask me!"

"Well, um…you say thirty-four years, but you only look about twenty. And you haven't changed since last time I met you either, and it's been years since then!"

"Now you get to it!" He said cheerfully and stuck out a hand to her. "It's an honor to meet you, Lara Chapman. My name is America, known to most as Alfred Jones."

She shook his hand, raising an eyebrow. "America?"

"Well," He let go of her hand and tapped his chin. "I'm more 'officially' known as the United States of America." He laughed at her disbelieving expression. "It's okay! But I've been here since this place became a country!" His expression grew more wary as he glanced down at her father's grave. "And I feel the pain every single time one of my people come back from the war."

Suddenly Lara knew he was telling the truth. There was something in his eyes that seemed older than twenty or so years. Something she couldn't see, but could feel.

"Until next time, Lara Chapman."

She never did meet him face-to-face again, but heard about him again and again, seeing him with the president on television or at various military functions. Sometimes he would be walking around Fort Sam Houston, talking to Wounded Warriors or other citizens.

And so, Lara Chapman never forgot Alfred Jones.

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><p><em>Never forget<em>

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><p><strong>AN: The ending doesn't do anything justice, so I apologize. I hope you enjoyed it. I took some liberties with the recovery program because I'm not exactly sure how they work.**

**Inspired by the link on my profile page under "Never Forget Inspiration Link". It's really interesting, you should check it out. **

** Thanks for reading!**

**Edit (9 August, 2014)**: I just freaking realized that America put a blue flower on the grave. Gives me Davie feels. Personal headcanon: it's the same blue flowers he wanted to give to Davie. As if I need to make this story more heartbreaking.


	2. American History (Part 1)

_**American History**_

The Historical Preservation Museum in San Diego, California was created specifically to be the largest, most accurate, and most detailed museum of American history in the world, complete with a full wing consisting of only full sized wax figures of all the presidents and other prominent people. Another wing was dedicated to the Native Americans, a whole floor to the Wild West. It was an impressive building, five stories tall and made of all tan stone.

Cameron Hunt was to be one of the upkeepers; an easy job that consisted of cleaning and maintaining the museum. It was a much nicer title, in his opinion, than janitor. Not that he figured there was anything wrong with the job (he was doing the same stuff anyways) but it would be hard to keep the negative connotations away, when he actually enjoyed doing the work.

It was a Monday in the middle of June, and, more importantly, the grand opening of the museum, and Cameron and a dozen other upkeepers were told to make the place _spotless, _or else. Though no actual threats were made, Harold Bauton and Melissa Strassburry, the museum directors, were legendarily strict with their venues.

Cameron knew why they were worried. Apparently, even the president of the country was going to be at the ceremony. He and several other important people would then be getting the first VIP tour around the building, led by and . Since Cameron and the other upkeepers were technically members of the museum's staff, they had been formally invited to the ceremony, with a firm reminder that there would be no funny business.

Spraying some cleaner of the glass window (which held Benjamin Franklin's likeness behind it) Cameron wiped the glass, squinting to make sure the whole pane was shining. A few cases down, Amelia, a college student at the local community college, grumbled about a spot that wouldn't come off of Rosa Parks' case. He'd known Amelia for a few years; they had briefly gone to high school together and she had been a part of the large group of friends they hung around with. She treated him like a little brother and he found her complaining personality amusing.

"You need help?" Cameron called over to her. She sighed and nodded. He picked up his cleaning materials and headed over, looking at the spot that was bothering her. He had somehow gotten a different cleaning spray, and he noticed that it got off some of the tougher spots on the glass easier.

After he managed to get it off, he offered his spray to Amelia. "I can deal with the crappy spray, if you want."

"Nah, it's fine. I'll just call you over if I get another one." She poked a sponge in her bucket on the ground. "They really need new supplies. I'll go bother the office on Monday."

They worked awhile longer, until voices traveled to the room from the hallway. The wax building was connected to the main building by a wide, long hallway that had dozens of historical paintings, both real and reproduced. He and Amelia had cleaned those over a few days the previous week. Now they were finishing the wax building, and were nearly done. The room with the wax figures was more of a hallway shape itself; the presidents down one long side, and historical figures on the other, each with a shiny plaque and its own glass box. The building was connected to the painting hall by a large set of wooden doors that would be propped open when the wing was officially opened for guests. Due to the door's thickness, Cameron couldn't hear what the voices were saying, but they were steadily getting closer.

"Cameron!" Amelia hissed. "What time is it?" She looked nervous. "The people were supposed to come until three, and the tour's at seven!"

He glanced at his watch. "It's only two fifteen."

She thought it over quickly. "It's probably just the directors, then."

Right then, the left door creaked open, and two people came in.

One was , the other one a young man, who looked to be about Amelia's age. He wore a suit with a bowtie hastily done, and he looked around the room with bright blue eyes behind glasses. He grinned sunnily as he took off his glasses to clean them briefly.

"It looks great, Harold!" He then saw Cameron and Amelia, who were frozen by Rosa Parks' case. "Hello! Who are you?"

"I'm Cameron," He said quickly and stuck his hand out. The man gripped it tightly and shook.

"I'm Alfred Jones! And you, miss?" Amelia, flustered, introduced herself quickly.

"They do upkeep," said dismissively.

Alfred Jones nodded enthusiastically. "Would you like to show me around, then? Last time I saw this place it was an empty shell!"

They started walking through the hall, glaring slightly at Cameron and Amelia, which Cameron tried to ignore as much as possible. It wasn't like it was their fault Alfred Jones wanted to be taken around by them, for whatever reason.

He must be older than he looks, Cameron thought. The construction on the museum started around six or seven years previously. Unless he was the son of one of the construction workers or financiers, he would have been too young to be at the site, much less work on it. It was more likely he was family of a person who worked on it.

Every once in a while, Alfred would halt their progress and comment on the person in the case, talking animatedly about them. A few times, like when he walked past President Lincoln, he would pause for just a bit, silent, then jump in and tell a fun fact or story about the person. Apparently he was a history nut, too. Whoever he was, seemed nervous around him, constantly making sure the exhibits were up to his standards, among other things.

When they had reached the door again, Alfred shook Cameron and Amelia's hands again. "Thanks for the tour, guys! You did a great job cleaning!" lead him out the doors and they shut behind them, leaving Amelia and Cameron to finish cleaning.

"You would think he was the freaking president by the way was acting," Amelia commented. "But I've never heard of Alfred Jones."

"Maybe we'll find out at the ceremony." Cameron said. "Let's finish cleaning."


	3. American History (Part 2)

The party was bright and cheery, the adults holding glasses of wine or champagne, the minors (almost all of the upkeepers) were being followed around by non-drinking chaperones, to prevent them from taking any of the alcohol. Cameron sat around a table on the side of the courtyard where the ceremony was being held. The main front door was in the courtyard, and had a red ribbon hanging across it, a large bow in the middle. A podium was to the right of it, currently vacant.

Amelia was chatting with another girl across the table, and a boy was on his phone next to her. Their chaperone looked around, disinterested, occasionally checking his watch and mumbling to himself. It was obvious he would rather be socializing with adults than chaperoning teenagers.

It was almost five, when the dinner ceremony was supposed to begin, and some of the higher-ups were gathering up at the front, where a line of plush chairs were set on the left of the ribbon. An man in his sixties was up at the podium, leafing through some notes.

A few minutes later, he tapped on the microphone, causing the courtyard to go nearly silent and people to search for seats.

"Ahem," the man said, clearing his throat. "My name is Roger Nickerman and I am here to welcome you to the grand opening of San Diego's Historical Preservation Museum!" People applauded politely. "We will have short speeches from our directors, a few of our most honored donators, and a very special guest that we are pleased to have with us today. Now up to the stand…"

Cameron took out his phone, ignoring the drone of monotonous voices and speeches that were anything but short. The lights eventually came on in the courtyard as the sun went down, and a few of the younger guests started fidgeting after 20 minutes of talking.

Finally, the last person to make a speech went up to the stand. Cameron didn't bother to look up. He figured it wasn't going to be anybody interesting.

"Hey dudes! It's so great to be here right now!" At that voice several of the teen's heads shot up from their phones and looked in shock at the blond man up at the podium, waving enthusiastically to the audience.

"I'm super excited to have this place be opened. It's totally a huge honor. I'm not one for speeches, but thanks!" There was politely confused clapping going on from the guests, most having no idea who the man was. Cameron noticed he didn't even introduce himself at the beginning of the speech.

carefully handed large, golden scissors to Alfred Jones, who excitedly pranced over to the door and cut the ribbon, getting a larger applause from the audience. Soon, the cameras started flashing, and Alfred Jones just waved and smiled, pulling and a few other fancy people up to take a picture or two.

Later that night, as Cameron was getting ready to go to bed, his mother came up to him and silently gave him a letter. He flipped it over to the front of the envelope as she walked away to the living room.

_To: Cameron Hunt, Upkeeper_

_From: Alfred F. Jones_

Curious as to how Alfred F. Jones had gotten his last name, Cameron set down his toothbrush and carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

_ ,_

_Hey man! I'm sorry I didn't come to chat during the ceremony or anything, but the men in black kept making me go and talk to people. Anyway, thanks for the tour of the wax room! It really brought back some memories. Some weren't the greatest, but you can't have the bad memories without the good ones, right? _

_From, _

_Alfred F. Jones_

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><p><em>Never forget <em>

_American history._

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><p><strong>AN: GAH, I'm sorry it's so sort. But I felt like there wasn't much to say. The letter at the end was a nice note, I think. **

**Anyways, in case you haven't caught on yet, these one-shots are connected by those two little lines at the end, right above this author's note. AKA, they're the titles of the stories, and they'll all make a little poem at the end.**

**I hope you liked it! I have plans to continue going back in time. So far I have the Civil Rights movement, the Great Depression, the Civil War, and the Revolutionary War. I need at least 8 ideas, so I need two more. If you have any suggestions, that would be great. **

**All of these stories will be from the eyes of American citizens and how they see America, and how he interacts with the people. I want the fanfiction world to see a different side to him. America has a pretty tough history. Granted, not as long and crazy as others, but the struggle to be a free country wasn't always pleasant. **

**If you haven't read Never Forget, it would be awesome if you would do so. It's about a soldier making a sacrifice for her country, and her country coming to pay her a very special visit. **

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><p>Title for next story: <em>Learn From the Past<em>


	4. Learn From Your Mistakes

_**Learn From Your Mistakes**_

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><p>An event that changed the world.<p>

Read that line. How many events can you think of? You may think of the Industrial Revolution, the first human on the moon, the world wars, the fall of the Roman Empire. All of those seem so far away, so distant. They're things you only hear about in history. But what if there was one in your lifetime? Do you remember? Do you remember the fall of the Twin Towers?

If you're like me, a teenager, it seems as though it never really happened. You may have a vague memory of it. But you hear of it every year. The tributes. The condolences. The reminders to remember. You don't need a reminder, because it's consequences are all around us. All of that crazy airport security? The government having the ability to monitor us?

The fact of the matter is, we, as a nation, _can't _forget. We lost loved ones that day. A whole generation, condemned to a new America focusing its military power on defeating terrorist groups. Millions of children, worrying about parents fighting the said terrorists. Even now, with the war in Iraq finished, we see new terrorist groups pop up seemingly all the time.

A world changed. A nation scarred.

Our mistake isn't letting the terrorists in. There was no way to predict and prevent such an event from occurring at the time. The mistake we made was thinking we would forget.

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><p><strong>AN: I wrote this today, and I didn't post it on the actual date because I think that's ridiculous and unsympathetic. Now, if this offends **_**anybody **_**in **_**any way, shape, or form, **_**message me and I will address the issue. This was not meant to offend, just to let out my feelings on the matter.**

**I was four at the time. And today, I see people on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr posting tributes to 9/11. And I think it's ridiculous. Not that giving condolences is wrong. The part I find wrong is "Remember 9/11" as if we're not allowed to forget, or we're being accused of forgetting. Perhaps a person that lost a family member on that day doesn't want a huge, colorful reminder of that event plastered all over their news feed. Think before you post. **

**The line "Learn From Your Mistakes" has multiple meanings. Take from it what you will.**

**This is intended to be an omniscient point of view.**

**For more in this 'series' that will help you make sense of the poem below, please read my one shot and two shot Never Forget and American History!**

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><p><em>Never forget<em>

_American history._

_Learn from your mistakes,_

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><p>Next chapter: <em>For They Are Many<em>


	5. For They Are Many

_**For They Are Many**_

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><p>"<em>They preach the supremacy of the state, declare its omnipotence over individual man and predict its eventual domination of all peoples on the Earth. They are the focus of evil in the modern world..."<em>

-Ronald Reagan, March 8, 1983

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><p>"You have to believe me! I'm not a communist! Please!"<p>

Alfred F. Jones heard the protests coming from around the corner and rushed towards the cries, pushing a few people aside. A crowd had gathered.

Finally, he reached the front. A man in his forties with a ripped and muddy suit on was shoved up against a brick wall, a few men around him. Every once in awhile one would spit an insult at him and either kick and punch him. A burly man on the left finally punched him straight in the jaw, and the man flopped to the ground like a rag doll, unconscious.

Alfred flinched when the punch was given, frozen to the spot. This is what they were reduced to. Nobody could be trusted. Watch for the communists. As soon as the police showed up, Alfred spun on his heel and continued down the street, shivering. It was a constant struggle, trying to resist the urges to find all the communists and _destroy _them. How dare Russia do this to his country, his _people. _

The citizens of the United States were scared and suspicious, and the toll was starting to wear on Alfred. Occasionally, he would slip into a state of pure paranoia, and other times pure numbness. Russia would invade his dreams, taunting him with his atomic bombs and pipe. Alfred shuddered as he looked up into the sky, thinking of what would happen if Russia got his satellite into space first. He could spy on them or…

Alfred shook his head forcefully. _Don't think about it. _All he wanted was for people to be _free, _not _controlled. _

He kept walking, getting progressively angrier and angrier, flinching at every little sound, occasionally fiddling with Texas or his jacket. _Russia will regret it...just wai-_

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by somebody pulling him into an alley. Immediately yanking his arm out of the mystery person's grip, Alfred stuck his fists up in a semi-defensive position.

"What do you want? You're not a communist are you?"

It was a young man in front of him, his eyes wide and hands up in the air.

"No, no, I'm sorry! O-of course I'm not a...nevermind. I j-just need a place to stay for the night. I'm having a fight with my girlfriend right now and-"

"I'm sorry." Alfred said stiffly. "I can't help you." He started to walk away, but the man grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Please! I-I have a feeling you can help. Just one night!"

Alfred turned back towards the boy, looking at him sharply, trying to discern if he would try to murder him if Alfred did let him in his house. As with all the other nations, he could glean some of the intentions and emotions of his citizens. It wasn't always accurate, but Alfred didn't sense any ill intent from the boy in front of him. He just seemed scared out of his mind. His girlfriend must have been pretty angry.

"Fine," Alfred agreed. He figured the boy would also help keep his paranoia down slightly. It was always when he was alone, with his thoughts… "One night. Come on, it's gonna be dark soon." The boy nodded gratefully and followed Alfred closely, chatting quietly the whole way.

"I'm Jimmy, by the way."

"I'm Alfred F. Jones."

* * *

><p>"This is so good! Thanks!" Jimmy took another bite of his cheeseburger. Some ketchup dribbled out of the side and down his face.<p>

"No problemo. So what happened with your girlfriend?"

Jimmy paused for a second and blinked at Alfred. "My...oh yeah! Um, it was a pretty nasty fight. I'm pretty stupid when it comes to girls, hah…" He took another bite of the burger and shrugged.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. Jimmy was lying. "Oh really?" He said false-cheerfully. "What was the fight about?"

"Oh you know...money. I have bad gambling habits."

Alfred nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, that sucks. You lie to her about the money loss, or something?"

Jimmy's eyes widened slightly. "I...um…"

In about two seconds flat Alfred had Jimmy pinned to a wall in the dining room. The plate crashed into the ground, shattering and spilling ketchup and burger everywhere. As Jimmy was gasping for breath, Alfred stared him straight in the eyes.

"Are you here to spy on me? _Did Russia send you?_"

Jimmy could only manage a squeaky "no" before Alfred shoved him against the wall harder.

"_Don't lie to me." _Alfred hissed. "I'm not going to let that communist send spies after me with some sob story."

As Jimmy continued to protest weakly, a voice in the back of Alfred's mind said "_He's telling the truth. He's not a communist. You can sense it!" _but all he could see was red, and Russia's mocking face.

Suddenly, Alfred jerked back and Jimmy dropped to the ground. Exactly the same way the man did in the middle of the street earlier that day. The voice inside his head was right, this kid wasn't a communist. He backed away until he hit a chair, and then sat down in front of it clumsily, staring in shock at Jimmy, who was lying on the floor, attempting to breathe again.

"If...if you aren't a communist, then why...did you lie to me?"

It was a bit before Jimmy could speak again. He looked as if he wanted to run (Alfred didn't blame him) but figured it was a bad idea with Alfred right there. He coughed a couple of times.

"I-I was accused of being a communist...I would never do something like that! But I knew a guy that was supposedly one and now they think I'm-" He buried his head in his hands. "My life is ruined. They kept chasing after me and my girlfriend kicked me out and they know where I live...you seemed like somebody that would help. I don't know why but…"

"I'm sorry." Alfred said quietly. He couldn't believe that innocent people were being accused of being communists. Though there _were _rumors about that McCarthy guy…

Jimmy shook his head. "It's not your fault. If you're not going to attack me...can I still say here? I'll leave tomorrow, I promise."

"I'll take you somewhere tomorrow. Out of town. And then I'm going to fix this."

_Just another problem, another mistake we've made, _he thought.

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><p><strong>AN: Ah, probably inaccurate Cold War fanfiction. Oh, the good times.**

**And Cold War fanfiction without Russia making an appearance? Preposterous.**

**If there's anything that is glaringly and horribly inaccurate about the time period or anything, just tell me or something. Though these aren't exactly for accuracy. They're more for the morals. Or whatever. **

**My headcanon for America during the Cold War during the Red Scare and McCarthy's reign is that he was very paranoid, but also having a lot of horrible, scared times where he feared for his people. They **_**were**_ **being threatened by Russia's bombs. And satellite. Oh, Sputnik. **

**During this time there were a lot of people accused of being communists or communist sympathizers, but most of them weren't actually any of those. McCarthy was a man that lead this humongo anti-communist campaign and blamed a lot of liberals in the government. Eventually he moved on to blaming some higher-ups in the military of being communists, and that was a big no-no. And so, McCarthyism was no more.**

**My views on communism aren't in any way playing a part in this work. I am only putting down the views for that time period and the turmoil that could have gone on in Alfred's head if he were really America. I'm American, so we are extremely negative when it comes to communism. I don't really reserve any particularly strong feelings towards it. **

**And as I was about half way finished with this, a song called "Russian Privjet" by Basshunter came on my Pandora station (dance/EDM music is great to write to). Privjet means "hello" or "hi" in Russian, so it's basically "Russian hello". And I can totally see Russia popping into America's house with his pipe and a not-so-innocent smile going "hi" in Russian. **

**For others in this series check out Never Forget, American History, and Learn From Your Mistakes!**

**Sorry for the long author's note…(-.-")**

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><p><em>Never forget<em>

_American history. _

_Learn from your mistakes,_

_For they are many._

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><p>Next: <em>The Will To Be Strong<em>


	6. The Will to Be Strong

_**The Will to Be Strong**_

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><p>"<em>And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.<em>

_I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'_

_I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood._

_I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice._

_I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character._

_I have a _dream_ today!_

_I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers._

_I have a _dream_ today!"_

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

><p><em>28 August, 1963<em>

Katie gripped her mother's hand tightly, nervously glancing at all the people around her. People were shouting, crying, smiling, holding children up, and laughing. People together, black, white, _everybody. _As far as she could see, there were people everywhere.

In her six years Katie had never been around so many different people.

They stopped walking and Katie's father lifted her up and set her on his shoulders. Suddenly, she could see the big white building with the podium, and the man standing up there.

"Thats Mr. King," Katie's mother said fondly. "He's a very great man."

After waiting for a few minutes Katie started watching the people around her. A few caught her eyes; a boy playing with a toy plane, a large woman wearing a ridiculous hat talking to another woman. One man caught her eye though. It was a white man, about her father's height and he had glasses. He was going through the crowd, shaking hands with everybody excitedly. Katie watched him as he got progressively closer to her family.

Eventually he did, and shook hands with all three of them, reaching up to gently shake Katie's.

"Thanks for coming! This will be a day to remember." He said cheerfully. He moved on to other people, laughing with the children and gesturing up to the podium, explaining something occasionally.

"What a strange man," Katie's father said. "I wonder who he is."

* * *

><p><em>With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.<em>

* * *

><p><em>25 Years Later<em>

Katie gripped the hand of her daughter and led her through the crowd of people. They were headed towards the Lincoln Memorial and all of its glory, the impressive building still as large as she remembered it.

The pair stopped at the bottom of the steps and Katie kneeled down next to her young daughter. Hazel eyes looked at her, confused.

"Why are we here, mama?"

Katie smiled warmly. "Exactly 25 years ago I was here. And there were a lot of other people here too."

"Was it a circus?"

Katie laughed. "No, it was much more exciting than that. This is the same place where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. made his speech. And I was in the crowd. I saw him and listened to him. Do you know why it was important?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Because," Katie waved her hand towards the whole area. "This speech lead the way to let you go to school with all the other kids, and so people didn't separate us from others. We can be equals."

"As you deserved to be." Katie turned around to see a man sitting on the steps, looking out on the whole place. "It was horrible, the segregation. It should have never happened."

A memory tugged at Katie. From this place…

Suddenly, Katie's daughter trotted up to the man and poked his arm. "Who are you? You're weird."

The man laughed. "My name's Alfred. I guess I am pretty weird."

"I'm Valerie." Alfred shook her hand and turned back to Katie. Suddenly, the memory hit Katie. The man that shook her and her family's hands right before the speech. He looked exactly the same.

"You...look just like a man I met here at the speech."

Alfred smiled widely and stood up. "I remember that day. I come here every year." He turned and looked up at Lincoln. "I still feel guilty, for not pushing harder for all of...that...to end. I had been waiting for that day for years."

"Um, you age really well, I guess." The memory was fuzzy at best, but the man in front of her didn't look very old.

"You don't even know the half of it." He checked his watch. "Oh great, I'm missing a meeting." He gave Katie and Valerie a disappointed look. "They _always _schedule one on this day. I think they don't want me to be seen too much." He shrugged and waved. "I'll see you later!" And Alfred jogged away, leaving Katie and Valerie on the steps.

"America." Valerie said cheerfully.

"What's that, Valerie?" Katie asked. Valerie just giggled and started running up the steps. "Wait up! Don't run too fast, you'll get hurt!"

* * *

><p><em>Free at last! Free at last!<em>

_Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh goodness, I'm going to cry.**

**I've always felt so strongly about the Civil Rights Movement. Though I'm a white girl who's never had to experience racism, I still see the history of it and segregation and slavery and it horrifies me. **

**One of my favorite America headcanons is that during the Civil War the Alfred we see now was the North, and a second personality came out to be the South. Along with that, I can see the personifications not fighting over the land issues, but over slavery itself. Thus, since the North 'won,' the Alfred 'today' is more of the North. Thus thus, dislikes slavery/segregation. And so though the whole Civil Rights he was disgusted by the segregation. **

**Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have A Dream" speech August 28th, 1963. ** **The Civil Rights Act of 1964 ended all state and local laws requiring segregation. **

**If you have never heard the speech, **_**please **_**find a recording of it. He is an excellent orator, and the speech was written beautifully.**

**Glaring historical errors? Tell me. I don't want to offend anybody.**

**If you haven't, check out my other stories Never Forget, American History, Learn From Your Mistakes, and For They Are Many. They all involve America and his citizens from different points in time. **

* * *

><p><em>Never forget<em>

_American history._

_Learn from your mistakes,_

_For they are many._

_The will to be strong_

* * *

><p>Next: <em>Only Makes You Weak<em>


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